Cripple's Bane
by Moonsp1r1t
Summary: Malik is not having a good day. One-shot.


I handed over my coins to the merchant and lifted the crate from his stall. It was much too large to fit under my arm, leaving me without a choice other than to balance it precariously on my single arm. The merchant watched me with interest, without offering help. Not that I would have accepted it, if he did. Many thought me weak and frail due to my missing arm, and I did not wish to reinforce this misconception by accepting help on the rare occasion it was offered to me.

I tried to stick with the crowd, mostly to avoid the beggar women that were preying on people too close to the edge, although many people gave me a wide berth due to the large, unwieldy crate I was holding. That and my misfortune of having an amputated limb might be contagious.

I hated Jerusalem.

A group of guards began pushing their way through the crowd, harassing people seemingly at random.

"Get back to the slums where you belong, cripple." one of them hissed in my ear.

I grimaced and tried to ignore them, continuing to walk with the crate balanced on my arm. However, it is very difficult to ignore someone when they're actively tripping you. My body tipped forward, and the crate flew a couple of feet away, but I could still hear the sound of the ink pots I bought breaking. I winced, hoping desperately that at least most of the vellum I bought could be salvaged. I had landed on my left shoulder, and I knew that it was going to be bruised latter.

"_Assholes._" I thought savagely, "_Thinking that they're better than everyone else, just because they work for the city._"

Above me, the guards guffawed and left, continuing to harass various citizens. I scowled at their retreating backs as I scrambled on hand and knees to try to get back up with the crate. A couple of people spared me a glance, but no more than that. When I had finally managed to get back to my feet with the crate in hand, I stormed back to the Bureau, fuming, in an even worse mood than I was in before.

I slammed the crate down at my desk, ignoring Altaïr, who was sitting on some cushions in the corner, watching me. He must have come in while I was out. I pried the crate open and quickly found that several of my ink pots had shattered, ruining most of the vellum inside. I cursed, separating what was salvageable from what wasn't, quickly figuring out that I was going to have to go back out tomorrow.

"What happened?" came a quiet voice from across the room.

I fixed him with a glare. "Why do you care?"

Altaïr continued to watch me. I shoved the now empty crate onto the floor and sat down in a huff on my stool. I placed my elbow on my desk and ran my hand through my hair, releasing a sigh of sheer frustration through my nose.

"What happened?" Altaïr asked again.

"Don't you have work to do, Altaïr?" I growled without looking up.

"Not for the rest of the day." he answered, "I have collected enough information on Robert, for now."

"Oh? Really?" I sneered.

"Yes. Really." he retorted.

"Well, surely you can find something to do elsewhere." I snarled, my head jerking up to glare at him.

"I doubt it." Altaïr said flatly.

"Can't anything penetrate that thick skull of yours?" I hissed, "Get out!"

Finally taking a hint, Altaïr nodded and slipped out into the covered courtyard area. I dropped my head onto my desk, my single hand curled up into a fist, my shoulders shaking with fury, a terrible feeling of loneliness washing over me.

When I returned from the market the next day, I placed the new supplies I had bought to replace the ones ruined previously on my desk, before sitting down on my stool and rolling my ankle, my various scrapes and bruises aching. Once again I sorted through the ink pots and vellum that were salvageable. Luckily, there were more that could still be used than the previous day.

I brought out my small box of medical supplies and washed off the skinned palm of my hand in one of the fountains before heading to my desk and wrapping a bandage around it. As I was tightening the bandage with my teeth, I heard a thump from the covered courtyard and it wasn't long before Altaïr strode inside. Suddenly becoming aware of the compromising position I was in, I clenched the bandage in place, my fingers pressed against the partially tied knot, and thrust my hand beneath the counter, so it was out of sight.

"What do you want, Novice?" I growled, with more venom than I had intended.

Altaïr raised an eyebrow before he said, "I have found all of the information I need for my target. I'm here for the feather."

I opened the small box of eagle feathers beneath the counter and withdrew one before handing it to Altaïr across the counter. The bandage did not escape his notice. Altaïr, maybe just a little smarter than I give him credit for, apparently worked out what had happened. Of course there's always the possibility that he eavesdropped on a bench somewhere and heard the gossip of various thugs and guards harassing some one-armed man.

"You can ask for help, you know." Altaïr said, "You can't just let people do th-"

"I don't need anyone else's help." I snapped, "I am perfectly capable of doing things on my own. I'm not weak."

"I know." said Altaïr shortly, "But still. I'm sure an Informant could help, or you could request an assistant."

"I don't need an assistant, and all the Informants are too busy. Besides, they all have their own homes and families." I said shortly.

"Doesn't anyone else stay in the Bureau with you?" Altaïr inquired.

"No."

"It must get lonely." he said in an off-hand sort of way, looking like he didn't mean for the words to escape his mouth.

"Not at all." I said, "Frankly, I enjoy the peace and quiet."

Not a complete lie. I _do _enjoy the peace and quiet, but I miss being an assassin. I miss going on missions with other people, and I miss feeling like I'm _actually_ contributing to the success of the brotherhood. I miss returning back to Masyaf after the missions and finding Kadar waiting for me. I miss free running. I miss not being treated like an invalid. I miss not _being _an invalid.

But I'll be damned if I admit any of this out loud, and especially to Altaïr.

I brandished the feather at him, and he took it carefully from me, crushing it in his fist. He nodded his thanks and headed back out to the covered courtyard, scaling the wall and climbing onto the roof in a flash. I stared after him for a moment or so before rewrapping the bandage on my hand, which had become undone, and tightened the knot with my teeth.

* * *

><p>I promise I'll post something with more humor in it soon. I couldn't help but notice that so many of the things I've been posting here lately are so... angsty.<p>

I'm also planning on a new series. What would you rather read? What would happen if Altaïr and Desmond switched places, or Desmond experiencing the Bleeding Effect for a few days, so he actually believes he's Ezio? Just tell me what you think, because I can't decide. :3


End file.
